


Melody "Beats" McPhail

by Daleks_Demigods_and_Dementors



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Accent inconsistency, Can you tell I'm a music kid, Canon Era, Fear of Heights, I'm really trying to get the accent down, I'm sorry I'm midwestern, Mels has a potty mouth and so do some of the newsies, Mels probably has ADHD or mild autism, Mentions of Murder (past), No Proofreading We Die Like Men, OC-POV, OC-centric, Orphan - Freeform, Paralyzing fear of heights, Past OC death, Phobia as a recurring theme, Post-Strike (Newsies), Slow Updates, Very little editing cause I write and post on the same day usually around 1am, cursing, either way she stims cause I'm projecting, mentions of the refuge, mild references to slapping as discipline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29774268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daleks_Demigods_and_Dementors/pseuds/Daleks_Demigods_and_Dementors
Summary: Melody McPhail hates life in the Nunnery, but as an orphan, she has nowhere else to go but the streets. Fortunately for her, the Newsies of lower Manhattan are a kind bunch. But when her late father's ghosts catch up to her, where will she turn to escape her parents' fate?
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 2





	1. How to Solve a Problem Like Melody McPhail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mels hates the Nunnery. They hate her back. She decides to do something about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of death; Hitting/slapping as form of punishment/discipline; Paralyzing fear of heights, like —I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory— type fear (recurring theme)  
> Short chapter, really just getting thoughts on paper (Page? Text? Does this count as paper? Help?)

I spent nearly seven months at the Nunnery after my mother’s death. She had gone to school there herself when she was young, so when I showed up at church for the first time without her, the Sisters knew right away that something was wrong. I was reluctant to go, but they happily took me in, excited for the fresh meat; they hadn’t had the opportunity to train a girl so young in over a decade. They were so thrilled to have another young Sister-In-Training in their ranks, and Marian McPhail’s daughter, no less.

However, they soon realized that I was nothing like my mother. I spat, I swore, I sang during study instead of during service. I tugged at my robes until I ripped them—multiple times—because I couldn’t shake the sensation that they were gripping too tight around my neck. I refused to walk up to the choir loft. Try as they might, they couldn’t make me stay upstairs where I had to look over the railing… the height made my vision swirl. It made me sick and my brain went foggy, which is why I didn’t know what I was saying when I hurled curses at Sister Bridget after she tried to pick me up. Apparently, she nearly fainted upon hearing the rush of profanities escaping my lips.

I had my father’s temperament. That’s what the Sisters always said as they shook their heads.

_ She has her father’s temperament. _

_ It’ll get her into trouble one day. _

_ We have to beat that tongue out of her before someone else does. _

_ We can’t do such a thing, it’s ungodly. But we know someone who can. _

That afternoon, I was handed over to a man named Snyder. He was to take care of me until the following week.

By the time I came back, I was a far better behaved little Sister. Mother Gertrude was so pleased at my development. Scared half to death at the week I had spent at Snyder’s “Refuge”, I fell into line in the blink of an eye. Sister Bridget didn’t have to smack me as much. I read every assigned verse and more if I could. I washed every dish, every article of clothing, and every inch of floor with fervor and passion. I baked bread and donuts for the poor and youth on the street every morning, and couldn’t even think about taking some for myself lest I fall ill with the thought. The thought of those Refuge boys haunted me, all dirty and hungry, the way they surrounded me, took me out to the window or the roof and held me out so far I thought I was going to fall. I would stare down at the street below, and shiver at the thought of my body lying there, staring back up at the boys, who would all laugh until my mind went blank.

I shook this image out of my thoughts time and time again. If I behaved myself, I would never have to see that horrible place again.

But there was one thing I heard the boys whispering about that gave me a bit of hope. Apparently, a few years ago, someone had actually escaped the grounds, and made it out to the other side. I lied awake at night thinking of the esteemed Jack Kelly, and praying that perhaps if he could escape the Refuge, maybe I could escape the nuns.

It wasn’t a month later that my prayers were answered. Sister Katherine forgot to lock the back gate of the churchyard, so I snuck out that evening with nothing but an apple and near-stale donut, my diary, and my mother’s Bible.


	2. Oh, How the Cold Winds Blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mels finds herself alone and afraid in the wilds of Manhattan. Despite herself, she makes a friend... and a few enemies.

My first night on the street was a restless one. The chill crept into my bones from the cold cobblestone beneath me. I made the mistake of eating the donut as soon as I got hungry, which did little for my churning stomach and left only the apple to keep me until I could find food again.

I ate the apple at sunrise, but my stomach still grumbled. I had no money, no plan… When I entered the Nunnery, they forced me to take a vow of poverty just like the others, so of course there was no money to take with me. I cursed at myself for my thick head. How did I think I could fight my way through this? It’s not like I could find some back alley where a bunch of kids were going to be betting nickels on a little lady street fighter. But I wandered the streets looking for them anyway, some function where I could get my hands on a good meal for the right work. To be honest, I didn’t mind using my fists when I had to. I could be deceivingly quick. My father had taught me how before he died.

 _It’s all about turning weakness into strength,_ he would say. _Yours and your opponents’. You’re little, Mels, so you don’t got a lot of power. But if you knows how, you can make even the biggest guy eat his own dust._

He knew because he was the same way. Small, fast, bouncy. Everett McPhail was a guy who could sweet-talk his way out of nearly any situation, but if he couldn’t, he switched from his wits to his fists to get the job done. Me, though… I usually went for the second option first, when I could get away with it. Another things he always said was _‘don’t run your mouth when you can shut it’,_ and I hadn’t quite mastered that art yet. Something was always flying with me, whether curses or fists. I could tell a part of him was proud, even though I wasn’t a schmoozer like him. My mother, on the other hand… well, she tried her best to make me a proper lady, especially after he died, but I never took to it.

I shook myself out of my head when I saw something shine on the edge of the street. A loose nickel. I ran to grab it, nearly knocking over a little boy in my rush.

“Hey, watch it!” I heard him yell in a tiny voice.

Suddenly alarmed that I could have attracted unwanted attention from parents, a flash of parents, then cops, handcuffs, then the Nunnery or maybe even the Refuge going through my mind. I looked frantically around before noticing the bundle of newspapers tucked under his arm.

I knew what that meant. For a moment, I felt bad for him. He couldn’t be more than ten years old, and already selling newspapers for a living? I remembered some boys in my neighborhood starting that young when their family was in desperation, or more commonly, nonexistent. But my rumbling stomach pushed any pity I had for him out of my mind. At least he had a job.

I held up the coin as apologetically as I could. “Sorry kid, I gotta eat.”

I didn’t wait for his reaction. I turned and barreled down the street, heading for a mass of people, because I knew where there were people, there was money. And where there was money, there was trade. And people who trade, they have food.

Then I saw it. A busy bunch of people rushing around like chickens, dodging between carts and boxes, all packed in a little square block.

The street market.

Collecting myself, I walked toward the throng of people, turning over the nickel in my hand and letting it keep time as I bounced it on my thigh. I was never a fan of crowds, how they always made me feel like someone was watching. But this was Manhattan, some random passer was always watching, and in a market it was always gonna be so.

Folks looked like they were being herded like animals, the way they were packed in, and almost immediately my ears rang with all the noise they were making. Some people gawked at me or stepped out of the way as I passed, no doubt thanks to my stink and dirty clothes. Others passed me right on by without a glance.

I heard one man in front of me loudly bragging about the best fruit he’d ever had, sold right around the corner. Another, the most exquisite fish. One about a whole sandwich meal you could get for just a nickel. I perked up, and pushed in closer to hear where he’d found it. It was only a few stalls away.

There was the sign: 5 cents to a sandwich, and by the man’s description, I knew this had to be it. The sign said ‘Hadson’s Deli’. Displayed on the table was a collection of cut sandwiches, pickles, and what looked like some sort of pastry I’d never seen before. I walked up to the round man standing behind it.

“Pardon sir,” I called, “could I get a sandwich?”

The man turned, and looked me up and down, a chuckle escaping. “Sure, kid. That’s a dime.”

“A dime?” I echoed, already balling my fists out of habit. “I heard a fella braggin’ a nickel just a second ago. What’s with the sign?” I nodded to the ‘5 cents to a sandwich’ flag not two inches from his elbow.

He rolled his eyes, then glared at me, knocking the sign off the table to his feet. “For a little girl with a mouth, eleven cents.”

I stared him down with the same conviction. Man was ready to rip me off just cause I was a kid. And I was barely a kid, at fifteen I’m nearly an adult. Lots of kids younger than me are on their own and doing fine, no reason to treat us like we ain’t worth spit.

So the second he turned his back, I took one off the top and bolted. I heard shouting from behind me—no doubt from the seller realizing what I’d done—but by the time he noticed, I was long gone.

I kept making my way through the square, stuffing the sandwich in my mouth and checking over my shoulder what felt like every other step. The next time I approached a stand—this one with pickles, apples, and peaches—I didn’t even think about giving up my nickel. None of these cart-pushing cheapskates were worth my time. I hit cart after cart, and hid what I could in folds of my dress so they’d hopefully go unnoticed. Eventually I picked up a little bag for myself, but I didn’t get much before I decided to head somewhere safe. It was only a matter of time before someone caught on, and decided to alert the authorities.

The second I stepped out of the crowd, I backed into a little nook on the street. The sun was straight above me now, the heat getting almost unbearable. I hadn’t managed to pick up any water, but I did snag a pint of peaches, juice included. I downed the whole thing in one go, and wiped the sweat from my brow, looking around again for any sign of cops. I didn’t see any of them, but there was something else I did find.

Sitting only feet from me, leaning against a wall facing the street, was a boy what looked not too much younger than myself. His shoulders were slumped, contorting his body either out of exhaustion or to get out of the sun, maybe both. A crutch was lying at his feet. From my angle I could make out pools of sweat matting the hair under his cap. I took a step towards him, and found that he wasn’t just sitting pitiful, he was counting. He was counting a set of newspapers lying next to him. After a moment, I heard him groan in disappointment.

It broke my heart to see it. For a moment, I wondered if he might be lying about the leg, since I’d seen a few boys do it just for sympathy, but then again, anyone prepared to devote themselves to that kind of pretending for the better part of a day must be in a real desperate place anyways.

“Too many,” I heard him mumble, head in his hands. “I took way too many fa’ this snoozer of a headline. Ain’t no way I’ll be payin’ Race back now. Not if I wanna eat today.”

I looked from the boy—whose back was still towards me, no doubt he hadn’t the faintest clue I was there—to my collection of produce and pastries at my feet.

_Don’t you dare,_ I heard a voice in my head say, sounding strangely like my dad. _Don’t ever give to people who can’t pay you back. Rule number one, you look after yourself first. Other people ain’t your problem._

I loved him, my old man. But I had to admit, he didn’t always give the best advice. Where did his old life lessons ever get him?

“Psst,” I hissed into the street. “Hey kid.”

He whipped his head around, searching for my voice. Clearly, he hadn’t meant to be noticed.

“Hey,” I said again, this time walking up to him, a small sourdough roll already in my hand.

When our eyes finally met, I could tell right away he didn’t know what to make of me. He looked me up and down warily, immediately on the defensive, big blue eyes scanning every inch of me. I’d been looked at by boys before, in a way that made my skin crawl, but this wasn’t like those times. His eyes didn’t want anything from me, except to wonder whether I was a threat.

I knew what he saw. A ragged little girl with dirt and sweat on her face and dress, wide eyes, hair cut short like we’d had to in the Nunnery, but all wild from my night in the alley and morning in the market, small hands clutching a round of bread like it was the last thing to eat in all of New York.

After a moment, I heard him let out his breath. “Hey,” he echoed.

“I heard you mumblin’ to yourself,” I said. When he averted his eyes and shrank in on himself, I realized it might be a little insensitive for me to be so upfront. I paused a moment, mouth hanging open, feeling stupid and lost for words.

But I was already halfway there, so I let out any words that would come. “You, uh… you want some?” I finally asked, extending the bread as far as I could reach, which only made it about halfway to him.

He looked between myself and the bread for a moment, looking like he was wondering if it was some kind of joke. I felt my face get hot under his gaze—I hadn’t meant to offend him. I really did want to share, with the plenty I’d been carrying I thought it only right.

When he realized I was being serious, his whole posture changed completely. His shoulders straightened, his eyes got brighter, and his smile made it feel like he’d brought the sun down to shine with us, just in our little corner of the world for just a moment.

“Thanks, miss,” he said genuinely, hesitantly reaching out for the roll. I saw shock cross his face when I placed the whole thing in his palm.

He gawked at me. “You sure? I couldn’t repay you.”

“I got more at home,” I lied instinctively. Why I felt the need to lie to this stranger just to make him feel better, I’d never know.

But then he looked over his shoulder, back in the alley where I’d come from. I could tell he saw my little bag, dirtied and spilled out over the cobblestone, quite obviously not headed for any kind of home.

I thought he was going to get up and leave. Or maybe laugh at me. He could have done a lot of things. But instead, he broke the dough in two pieces, and lifted one back to me. “You wanna sit?”

I took the offer without a word, and I sat. And when I sat, he smiled even brighter than he had before.

And when he smiled, I found myself smiling too. “What’s your name, kid?”

“My friends call me Crutchie,” he answered after a bite. When I paused to wonder if he was joking, he looked back and forth from me to the crutch by his side. “You’d be shocked to find out why they do,” he said, side-eyeing me and cracking a grin.

I couldn’t help it, I laughed out loud for the first time in months.

“How ‘bout you?”

“I haven’t got any friends to call me nothin’,” I admitted, smile fading a little, “but when I did, they called me Mels.”

“Nice ta’ meetcha, Mels,” he said, offering his unbreaded hand.

I shook it. “You too, Crutchie.”

We ate the rest of our lunch in silence. No passerby paid us any mind. When the boy was done, he hauled himself up, and took up his load.

“Gotta sell as many ‘a these as I can before the sun goes down,” he explained, heaving the papers onto his shoulder. “And I should probably let you get, uh…” he peered over at my abandoned bag a few feet away, “home.”

“Sure thing,” I said, knowing my face was growing red at being caught so badly in a lie. “Good luck, Crutchie.”

“I’ll see you around, Mels.”


	3. Some Place to Call Home Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mels finds an old friend, and some frightening realizations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notice new tags/warnings going along with this chapter: Past Minor Character Deaths, Mentions of Murder  
> This one gets a little dark when I talk about Melody’s parents, but don’t worry it turns around by the end of the chapter! Happier times to come!

As soon as Crutchie left, I jumped up and headed to my old stomping grounds. Even if I couldn’t go  _ home _ home—I assumed the state had done something to my house, considering no one had lived there for eight months—maybe I’d still have a friend around my neighborhood that could help me out.

I knew the street like the back of my hand, so it was no problem knowing where I was going. I had been dreaming of getting back there since the day I left for the Nunnery. The cool tones of the houses, brighter than they were on other streets. Other kids my age running around and screaming with delight, folks keeping their windows open to yell at ‘em, even if they wouldn’t listen. The smells that came out of every kitchen, while every mother and wife was making herself busy. The way I remembered it, even the ground under the street seemed to roar with life, the pounding of kids’ feet keeping time to the music of the daily nothings. That was life in the tenement neighborhoods.

But when I reached my old street, it was like a totally different place. The buildings were too gray, the windows too shut, the street too empty. Some kids were outside, but they didn’t run and laugh, they just sat and played hand games. I didn’t know a single one of them.

I stopped outside my own building to look inside. Without getting off the street, I peered inside, and saw the figure of a woman standing at the kitchen window. My heart skipped a beat as all my memories came flooding back: a voice calling me home for dinner, a woman—my mom—standing at the kitchen window, waiting patiently with a smile on her face for me to come greet her and wash up. My heart skipped a beat as I almost ran to the door, but my feet were frozen in place. That woman wasn’t my mother. She was just an empty copy, standing in her place, family of her own.

The swirling in my gut made me antsy. My fingers thrummed against my leg, but even that movement couldn’t stop the world from spinning beneath me.

_ What did you really think you’d find here? There’s nothing left for you. Not here, not anywhere. _

I tore off down the street, tears already streaking my face.

I wound up in front of an old friend’s house. I hadn’t even noticed my feet taking me there, but when I couldn’t go home, that’s always where I felt safest. My feet knew the distance, the stride, the rhythm, as wholly as I knew the beat of my own heart, which was still pounding in my ears when I heard a hiss from behind me.

I whirled around. My friend Eida was standing near her front door, wildly gesturing for me to come out of the street.

“Mels,” she whispered when I approached. “What are you doing back here? I thought they sent you away.”

“They did,” I sniffed, wiping a hand across my face to clear off the tears. “But I can’t stay there. They hate me, an’ I hate them.”

“Don’t say that,” she winced, voice growing even lower than before. “Then nuns are good people. And I know church ain’t school, but an education is an education.”

My fingers start to ball up, heat rising in my chest. “You think I don’t know that? Of course I want an education, but Eida... I was suffocatin’ in there. You know me, you know I can’t do that.”

She shook her head. “Well ya gotta find somewhere else to be. Things have been different. This is a gang street now.”

Memories of my childhood—my father—flashed before my eyes. “This was always a gang street, Eida,” I said, choking up more than I meant to.

“It’s different,” she said, eyes flicking down the street. “They’re running things, now. I don’t wanna say it started with your dad, but—”

“Don’t talk about my dad,” I spat, trying to shake the feeling out of my head. I had spent the last four years not talking about my father’s death, and I sure wasn’t gonna start then.

“My point is,” she continued, “you gotta leave. They’re making us all nervous over here. This ain’t the home you knew, an’ I don’t wanna see you getting hurt. What if they recognized you?”

“I hear ya,” I said, more to get her to shut up than anything else.

_ You really thought there would be something here for you. How adorable. _

“Fine, I hear ya,” I repeated, “I’ll beat it.”

“I’m just looking out for you. As a friend.”

_ As a friend. As a friend who just told me she won’t ever see me again, under threat of death. _

I slowly started to back away, but as she turned to go back inside, I stopped her.

“Eida.”

She turned, halfway in the door already. “Mels?”

“Tell me one thing?”

She nodded, waited for me to continue. For a moment, I hesitated, wondering if I really wanted to know the answer.

“Did they find him? Randal?”

I could tell immediately by her face that she was about to say something I didn’t want to hear.

“Yeah, they found him. But he paid ‘em off. To the cops, he an’ his whole circle are as good as clean.”

I felt my heart drop into my stomach. “Clean?” I squeaked. “So they just let ‘em do what they want, is that it? We sit here in fear for our lives and the cops just… do nothing?”

“I’m sorry, Mels,” she said, shrugging, “but we’re nothing to them. Always have been. They say it’s a sacrifice for the city. Let ‘em keep their territories for the good of everyone else.”

_ A sacrifice. Nothing but another drop of blood in the dirt. That’s all we’ve ever been. _

“Thanks,” I heard myself mumble, but my heart wasn’t in it, and we both knew it. Without another word, we parted ways, and I got the hell out of Dodge.

Thoughts of Randal—Randal and my father—made their way in and out of my mind like my body moved through the busy Manhattan streets. They had been best friends since childhood, swinging for the same gang for years. For most of my own childhood, I had known him as ‘Uncle Randal’. That is, until about four years ago, when I watched him shoot my father.

His new crew had wanted to know how serious his loyalty was. That’s it. My father’s life for a new gig.

We chased him out of the neighborhood. He would have gone to jail, but the cops turned us down when they heard about it being a gang hit.

“That’s terf stuff,” they’d said. “None of our business.”

No one I knew had heard from him since. He disappeared, more than likely to the arms of his new crew.

I spent the rest of the day dodging crowds and cops, bag slung over my shoulder, looking for any signs in windows that might be about job openings. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to run and steal forever, and I certainly didn’t want to get stuck back at the Refuge again—or something like it, 'cause I heard it had been shut down after the Newsie strike a couple weeks ago—so I was gonna have to make some money.

I barely made it half an hour before I collapsed on the sidewalk. I still hadn’t gotten my hands on any water and the afternoon sun was starting to take its toll. I sat, sweaty, dirty, and exhausted, and covered my face with my arms. A part of me wished I was still back in the Nunnery. It wasn’t a home—and it never would be—but at least there I didn't have to steal my food, and sweat under the sun for nothing but a lousy nickel and some bad news. I almost got up and walked back to the church right then. But I knew it would never be the same. They would never forgive me like they did after my week at the Refuge. There would be no “welcome home, Sister”, no “we hope you learned something useful from this adventure”, no “now that you’re back, let’s pretend this never happened, as long as you’re ready to obey”. All that would be waiting for me there would be red-slapped cheeks, washing till my hands rubbed raw, and forced reading till my eyes glued open.

_ There’s nowhere left to go. You’re on your own, now, kid. _

I let the feeling overtake me. I was in way over my head. I was drowning in the sea of endless everything-and-nothing that was New York proper.

_ This is where orphans and nobodies like you belong. Sitting streetside, curled up and crying to yourself. This is you, and these your people. If you wanna survive it, get used to it. _

The night soon crawled in, and the streets slowly turned quiet. I tucked myself into an unoccupied gutter and curled in on myself, hunger and confusion clouding every thought. I couldn’t steal for the rest of my life. People would find out. I’d get noticed. I’d get sent back to the Nunnery… if I was lucky. I shivered, and not just from the cold, though that too was already starting to take its toll.

It was barely an hour after dark when I heard two voices floating down from the street. I couldn’t make out what either was saying—much less who they were—but it was definitely two boys. I tucked myself even further into a ball to avoid being seen, holding my breath as I heard them stop near me.

“Are you sure?” one of them said.

“...all lonely…” I heard from the other between mumbles.

Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice rise out above the other.

“Hey miss!”

I looked up to find none other than Crutchie, waving at me with a big smile on his face.

“You wanna get outta the cold?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I'll admit it... I said slow updates but I've come to really enjoy developing this character and I'm super excited for what we have in store. And I'm really trying to speed through the intro to get into major plot. I have absolutely no idea how many chapters this is going to be, but probably quite a bit. Definitely double digits. Stay tuned! And as always, I love hearing from folks, so leave a kudos or a comment if you feel so inclined <3


	4. Some Place to Call Home Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mels debates whether or not she’s found her place in the world yet. The boys offer her a nice gig, but she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. They seem nice, but will it be enough to keep her going when times get tough?  
> Or: Bonding with the newsies, featuring Mels cussing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a significantly longer chapter than the others. The dialogue got REALLY long I’m sorry but I thought everything needed to be said.  
> TW: fear of heights

“You wanna get outta the cold?”

I stared at the boy I had met barely 10 hours before. He seemed gentle enough, but the boy next to him… I couldn’t figure him out. I could barely see his face from my angle, but his outline was clear: broad shoulders, muscles like a man familiar with a hard day’s work, cap perched on his head just like Crutchie’s. I figured this must be the owner of the deeper voice I’d heard a few moments before. He was fidgeting with his hands just slightly, twisting one in the other, and flicking his attention back and forth between Crutchie and myself. I could tell he knew about as much about what was going on as I did.

Around me, I felt the fall chill starting to set in. Even if I could make it through tonight alone, where would it leave me when the sun started to set earlier, and winter started to make its way in? The words Crutchie had said weren’t a promise, but they were definitely an offer. He knew something I didn’t know, and he was willing to show me. A thought crossed my mind that this offer might come with a price, but I was at least willing to hear him out.

They both held their breath as I finally approached, gripping the bag slung around my shoulder.

“I guess it’s getting a little chilly,” I admitted, watching Crutchie, waiting for the catch.

He grinned brightly at me, and then turned to the other boy. “See, what’d I say, Jack? She’ll come back with us, wontcha Mels?”

“I ain’t going anywhere until you tell me the catch.”

Crutchie’s smile drops, and I almost feel guilty for bringing it up. “No, there’s no catch. We know places a kid can go an’ be safe an’ fed. There’s no catch, right Jack?”

Jack rubbed a hand over his face. “Well, that’s not quite right, Crutchie. See, there is one catch, Mels, an’ that’s ya gots ta have a job. But lucky for you, we’ve got an open slot.”

My ears perked up. No more running and hiding, stolen food in my bag, looking over my shoulder… If that was the only catch, I was ready.

“Did you say a job?”

“Sure, the newsies always got room for an extra pair a’ hands.”

“Newsies…” I echoed. Being a newsie would be a sweet gig, but… “I’m hidin’ from folks, I don’t want my face all over the streets where they might be.”

Jack grinned at that. “Rule one, newsies take care of each other. All for one an’ one for all, ya hear me?”

I grinned, and nodded along as he continued.

“An’ two, the great thing about bein’ a newsie is, you don’t gotta putcha mug anywhere ya don’t want it to go. As long as you ain’t movin’ on claimed territory, you’s clean as a new penny. A cap, a new getup, you’ll be smoke in the wind. Brand new start, just like lot’s a’ the boys, an’ just like me. How’s that sound?”

“Sign me up.”

I followed Jack and Crutchie to the Newsboys Lodging House, but doubled back when they started to climb the fire escape.

“Hey, what’s wrong Mels?” Jack called back when he noticed I wasn’t coming.

I shifted on the balls of my feet. “How far up are we going?”

“All the way to the top, sista’. Why, we got a problem?”

Crutchie turned, almost leaning over the railing to shout down to me. “Come on, Mels, it’s not that far! If I can do it, you can!”

My heart pounded in my chest. Three stories stood between myself and the roof of the lodge. But Crutchie was calling me, and if I didn’t go with them now, it was back to the alley to be picked up by the bulls…

“No problem here. On my way.”

I raced over to stand between Jack and Crutchie as we made our way forward, Crutchie in the front and Jack behind me. As long as I didn’t look down, I wouldn’t have a problem. That’s what I kept telling myself. But nearer to the top, I couldn’t help my legs starting to feel like jelly. Even if I didn’t know how high we were, I knew in my heart we were rising with each step. I couldn’t shake the shaking in my knees.

I tumbled forward as my foot caught a stair, nearly pitching myself over the railing.

I shrieked shamelessly as my line of sight rolled right over the fire escape and into the street, nearly three stories down. My heart stopped for a moment until I felt a pair of arms drag me backwards, pulling us both against the hard brick on the side of the building.

“Shh hey! Hey, you’re okay,” I heard Jack say to me, though his voice barely broke through the wall of terror that had surrounded my consciousness.

My brain and body were enveloped in Jack’s voice and embrace as he pulled me as far away from the edge as he could. I hadn’t seen him do it, I had squeezed my eyes shut—I couldn’t remember when—but I felt still. Eventually, my breathing slowed, and I opened my eyes.

“What, you’s scared of heights or somethin’?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I prayed he got the message anyways.

“It’s okay,” he said, nodding. He pulled me into a hug, and spoke softly into my ear. “I ain’t gonna let anything happen to ya, okay?”

I buried my face in his chest, desperately seeking the closeness despite only knowing him for less than an hour. I hadn’t been held so close to someone like that in months. And when he said things… when he said he wouldn’t let anything happen to me… he spoke in a way that made me believe him.

I nodded in response, still unable to speak.

“A’right, we can go the rest of the way then?” He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, checking for a response. “I promise, it’s not much farther now. An’ I’ll be here the whole time.”

I took a deep breath and nodded again.

He stepped away, but held onto my hand as the three of us made our way up the last stretch. He made sure to keep pace with me, staying firmly between myself and the outer edge until we made it up onto the roof.

“It ain’t much, but… it’s home.”

When he said it wasn’t much… he really wasn’t lying. All I saw were two blankets laid out, small scattered piles of clothing, dozens of dirty newspapers that appeared to be used for extra padding or wrapping up bread. Above us, the sky stretched out forever, stars just now starting to appear like freckles across the endless, inky pool. I couldn’t believe how different it looked without the buildings in the way.

“It’s incredible,” I said, looking back and forth between the boys. “Thank you.”

“Jus’ keep away from the edge,” Jack joked.

I just groaned in response, heart sinking.

“Sorry, too soon.” He looked around. “Uh… you can take my spot for the night. We’ll getcha someplace better to be tomorrow, soon as ya earns yaself some money.”

“Thank you,” I said sincerely, sitting myself on the blanket that wasn’t already taken by Crutchie. “I… I really can’t repay you for this.”

“Consider it payin’ ya back,” Crutchie said, piping up. “Ya know, fa’ lunch today.”

“I really don’t think—”

“We’s square, Mels. That’s final.”

I smiled to myself, grateful for the darkness to cover my blush. It was just in the way he’d said it… So factual, just as if he’d said ‘The Earth is round’. These boys, even though they had next to nothing, still offered me what little they could share without a second thought. I still wasn’t totally convinced there was no catch, but I had a blanket to sleep on, so whatever was coming for me come morning, it was worth it.

I laid down on the blanket, hearing the boys settling down a little farther away. A part of me suddenly felt awkward. I hadn’t slept in the same space with boys like this since my week at the Refuge, and before that, it had only been family. I didn’t even know these boys. They could be anyone. They could be criminals.

_ So are you _ , I reminded myself.  _ A convent runaway, and a thief. Who’s to think they’re more dangerous than you are? If they knew where you came from… your family… they’d be the ones scared of you. _

_ Except there’s two of them, and only one of me. Poor Crutchie don’t seem that strong what with his bum leg, but that Jack fella… he’s a working man. Fit, capable… he felt like a boulder when he held me on the fire escape. He’s not the kind of guy to get pushed around, certainly; he’s the guy that does the pushing. _

_ But on the fire escape, he held me solid and strong. He held me close until he knew—no,  _ I  _ knew—that I was gonna be okay. He offered me his blanket before I even thought about sitting down. He’s kind. _

_ If they were gonna hurt me,  _ I decided,  _ they would’a done it by now. No sense wasting sleep over it. _

So I didn’t. I felt my eyelids get heavy, and fell asleep almost instantly.

I woke up before sunrise, the chilly air making me start. For a moment, I panicked, not recognizing the rooftop, but soon enough my breath slowed. Sky still a dark, muted gray, I walked over to the edge of the roof and looked out over the city. Manhattan was beautiful from all the way above the Newsboys’ Lodging House… as long as I didn’t look straight down. Instead, I fixed my eyes on the horizon, waiting for the morning sun.

“Didn’t like the bed?” I heard behind me.

“No, it was fine,” I said, turning my head to see Jack coming towards me. His head was cocked to the side as if to inspect me, as if to size me up now that we were meeting officially for the first time without the shield of darkness. I instinctively ran my fingers through my hair, which I knew must have looked like a nest, almost as bad as his. I finally got a good look at him in the first peeks of the morning light. He was definitely older than me, though likely not by much. He had a strong frame, but a gentle demeanor about him. His eyes were kind and almost childlike in their brightness, but his shoulders were so tense, he could’ve told me they were holding up the sky and I would’ve believed it. But he grinned as he walked towards me, taking his mess of contradictions and hiding them behind a comfortable swagger.

“I just like the sunrise,” I continued. “Haven’t seen one in a while.”

“Well that’s just no good,” he said, planting himself about a foot from me to lean on the wall of the roof, staring out at the horizon like I had been doing. “Everyone needs to see a sunrise once in a while. I always liked the sunrises from the penthouse. It’s quiet. Nobody expects nothin’ of ya before it gets light.”

I looked around. “What penthouse?”

He scoffed, spreading his arms. “This one! My grand penthouse in the sky—didn’t ya see the stars last night?”

I smiled. “Yeah. It was nice.”

“We lives like kings up ‘ere. So it’s my penthouse.” He turned around to face more inward toward the roof, but kept looking at me. I just turned toward him.

“So today, you’ll show me how to be a Newsie? I can go make money, just like that?”

“I sure hope so. That’s what we’s promised, ain’t we?”

“An’ you said Newsies stick up for each other, right? So if there are some folks that make me nervous…”

“Don’t worry about it, kid. You’s gonna be alright, ‘cause I’m gonna show ya the ropes till ya gets comfortable. An’ if anyone comes for ya, I’ll be right there. You’s ain’t goin’ nowhere ya don’t wanna go. The name Jack Kelly still means somethin’ in this town.”

I grinned for a moment, until something struck me. “Wait…  _ you’re _ Jack Kelly?”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“They still talk about you, ya know. How you escaped from the Refuge.”

“Who does?”

“The boys there. Well, before it got shut down.”

He grew even more tense, fully turning to face me and searching my eyes to make sure he heard me right. “Wait, you was there? You’s been to the Refuge?” His face contorted in concern.

“Sure have. Spent a week once when I was bein’ too rowdy for the nuns.”

“The nuns?” he echoed.

I winced. “I may have… escaped from the nunnery, just a few days ago.”

“The nuns,” he said again, exasperated. “That’s who ya runnin’ from?”

“When my mom died, she wanted me to go there, get an education.”

“So what, ya don’t want a education?”

“Sure I’d love one, but not from a damn prison.”

“Hey watch ya mouth.”

“Shove off. Ya sound like Mother Gertrude.”

He chuckled and shrugged it off. “So why was ya at the Refuge? If ya don’t mind me askin’.”

“I cussed out one a’ the sisters when she tried to make me do somethin’ I didn’t wanna do.”

He hummed. “Makes sense. Nuns got they’s way about things.”

“Yeah, an’ I hated it. Lasted seven months, but I preferred the prospect of livin’ an’ dyin’ on the street to stayin’ another day in that place. Nothin’ wrong with it, really, it’s fine for folks who want it… but ya gotta want it. An’ I don’t.”

“I know whatcha means,” he said gingerly. Then he clapped my shoulder, lightening the mood. “But hey, now you’s here wid us. You’s a Newsie now. An’ we’ll getcha where ya wanna be.”

I rubbed my shoulder where it stung, but smiled. “Thanks, Jack.”

Jack freakin’ Kelly. Refuge escapee and nationally acclaimed strike leader. I still couldn’t believe it.

“You still think about it?” I asked softly. “Bein’ there?”

“I try not to,” he admitted, “but the nightmares still come, every once in a while. Me an’ Crutchie both.” He looked back at his friend, still lying on his blanket.

I followed his eyes to the sleeping boy. “He was there? Is that how he…” I didn’t want to be rude, but fear stuck a place in my heart. I knew how bad it could get in that place, the other boys not being so nice.

Jack seemed to catch my insinuation. “Nah, he had the limp since he was a kid. Some sickness messed him up when he was younger, an’ he never recovered. His stay at Refuge was just a couple weeks ago, just before the strike ended an’ we got the place shut down.”

That was even worse. He went to the Refuge  _ already _ dragging his leg? “ _ Good God Almighty, _ ” I whispered into the air. “They probably smelled him coming a mile away.”

“I don’t like to think about it,” he said, shaking his head. “An’ he don’t neither. We push it out, mostly, ‘cause the other Newsies, most of ‘em’s never seen the inside, much less spent the night. But we did, an’ we’s made it out the other side. We’s bruddas, an’ we gets through it together.”

I was startled by the feeling of a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to find Jack locking his eyes onto mine, willing me to read between the lines, and after a moment I think I got it. The three of us on the roof… we were the only Newsies that could share that experience. We had something between us the others didn’t have, a bond like no other. He was telling me he understood, Crutchie understood. I was safe here.

“Oh, that reminds me.” He turned around and left the wall to rummage through his and Crutchie’s stuff. “Gotta change outta them skirts if ya don’t want the nuns ta find ya.”

He walked back up to me with a spare cap, plus a set of work shirts, suspenders, and pants that appeared to be Crutchie’s.

“We’ll getcha somethin’ of ya own once ya got the change to spare, but this is all we got in a pinch.”

I took the pile from him, hands trembling a bit. “Thanks,” I swallowed, looking around. Did he really want me changing right here? Maybe it was fine with the boys, but…

“We’ll meet ya downstairs,” he said, seeing my hesitancy. “We won’t leave without ya, but don’t take too long. An’ feel free to leave ya stuff here while we’s workin’ today, nobody ever comes up here.” He went to get Crutchie, who was just now waking up, and they quickly made their way down the fire escape.

Suddenly, I was alone on the rooftop. I panicked for a moment—what if they did leave without me? I didn’t know anyone else, or even where I was supposed to go. What if the other Newsies weren’t as kind as Jack and Crutchie?

My stomach rumbled, tearing me from my thoughts. I needed to go out, to make money. The key to that was already in my hands. I shook any thoughts of doubt out of my mind as I fumbled to get dressed. The morning bell rang before I was finished, so I scrambled the rest of the way into the pants and nearly fell over in my hurry. They fit well enough—Crutchie and I were relatively the same size, thank goodness—but I would definitely have to invest in something of my own pretty soon. I rolled up my skirt and placed it by Jack’s blanket, cleaning out my bag to use for the day and placing the remaining food scraps by my clothes. I double-checked that I was set, as far as I could tell, and rushed over to the fire escape, where I stopped cold.

Jack must have forgotten about my fear of heights, because he’d clearly left me with no other way to get downstairs than to willingly stare straight down a ladder. A part of me wanted to back away from the wall, just wait until he came back up to get me. He said he wouldn’t leave without me… he’d have to come up eventually, to see what was taking so long. But they had already been so kind already, and I didn’t want to make anyone late for selling. Money doesn’t go in the pocket of a Newsie who can’t sell papes cause he’s waiting on a coward girl to haul herself down a little freaking  _ ladder _ .

I took a breath, mumbled a prayer, and began my descent.

It was not a pleasant experience, in any way. By the time I reached the bottom, my legs felt like goo and I was one good shove away from hurling my guts out. I was sure my face looked an unholy shade of green, but I was alive and finally on solid ground. I started to breathe regularly again, and got my bearings just as some voices started to crowd me.

“Who’s the new kid?”

“Wait, is that a  _ goil? _ ”

“Where’s the goil?”

“Hey miss, you lost?”

I thrummed my fingers against my thigh, every bone in my body telling me to run as the crowd kept pressing towards me. I continued to scan for any sign of—

“Hey be nice!” Jack’s voice demanded as he finally emerged from the crowd. “Everyone, this is my sister Mels. She’s sellin’ wid us today.” He wrapped an arm over my shoulders protectively.

“Ya sista’?”

“Ya didn’t have a sister yesterday.”

“Well today I do, what’s it to ya?” He pulled me in a little tighter to prove the point. He wasn’t backing down.

“So Crutchie’s ya brudduh an’ now ya gots a sista’? Where ya gettin’ these siblings from, Jack?”

“His ass!”

“Don’t cuss in front’a the lady, Finch!”

“Yeah, don’t use a  _ fucking _ dirty mouth in front’a the lady, ya bastard!”

Everyone went dead silent and stared at me, eyes wide and mouths hanging open.

It took me a moment to realize I might have taken that one a tad too far. I held onto my breath, waiting for the fists that would inevitably come my way.

Then laughter erupted from the crowd around me, all at once as the boys came out of their shock. Some of them could barely breathe; they were doubled over with tears in their eyes.

“Oh, she got ya!”

“You’s a’ight, Mels.”

“Finch, ya  _ face— _ ”

“Oh yeah, she’s a Newsie alright!”

Most of the boys started to disperse, some of them coming to pat me on the shoulder before they wandered off the distribution center, all of them grinning like kids.

“Well ya certainly made yaself at home, huh Mels?” Jack grinned down at me.

I smiled back.

It seemed I was here to stay.


End file.
